Need
by Icicle Raindream
Summary: In search for what's been bothering him, Ken takes on a private observation of his own and finds some rather hurtful answers.*mildly shounen ai*


Need

By: Icicle Raindream

WARNING: This fic contains hints of shounen ai material. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. (Although it's barely shounen ai--you could probably handle it.)

Disclaimer: I'm not making any profit off this story, especially since all the characters and credit belong to the creator, Koyasu Takehito. This was purely for entertainment purposes only.

Notes: Have you ever tried to write Ken? He's so much fun, and really easy to write! Believe it or not, I actually had fun writing this fic. Enjoy, and drop me a review!!

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It was all different now.

After Koneko no Sumu was rebuilt by the members of Weiss, things changed. First, we members just decided to open the flower shop for the hell of it. Maybe it was out of sheer boredom one day that Omi suggested that we hide right out in the open before Schreient and declare business again. It was amazing how we all threw ourselves into the task, especially Aya. I guess all that construction work he'd done on his Weiss off time did us some good, and the shop was flourishing yet again. But things were different.

It wasn't because Shuichi and Reiji Takatori were dead or the fact that Birman and Botan and Manx had since taken Shuichi's place, or even that Aya's sister had been stolen from her hospital bed and not yet returned. It was something else. Yohji still had his nights full of girls, Omi still had his light-hearted and simplistically naïve manner, I still had my sunny soccer days filled with children, and Aya…well, Aya still had his scowl. Maybe it wasn't apparent every single second of every single day, but I knew it was buried somewhere underneath his features, waiting to be unleashed on the person who next got under his skin.

I realize now that in all this observatory spewing, things must seem pretty normal to the average, every day Joe. But they weren't. Something…something I couldn't put my finger on just didn't sit well in my stomach and it bothered me for days on end until I finally realized what it was.

One night I was stalking my shadow in the house we built above Koneko. I'd had a terrible bout with insomnia that night, and I couldn't even fathom the idea of putting my head on a pillow, lying down or not. My eyes just wouldn't close. It was all very unexplainable, because nothing was really on my mind. I think I was in a daze, knowing that someday soon Schreient was going to wreak havoc on us. They already provoked us enough. One more attack and that was the last straw. Weiss was going to kick some major ass.

But that hadn't happened yet, and so there I was, shuffling through the house in my ratty old slippers, T-shirt, and loose shorts, wondering what in the hell I was going to do with myself for the next only God knows how many hours. Everyone else was sound asleep, resting up for the preplanned battle we were assuming was going to happen any time.

At least I _thought_ everyone was asleep. I was (surprisingly) yawning sleepily and flumping down the stairs to the basement when I heard a noise. I stopped dead in my tracks, nearly toppling over and pitching onto the floor, which was still a few feet away. I thought I heard a ripping noise. It came from the computer station we had rebuilt for Omi. Printer paper?

I took a few more cautious steps down, carefully avoiding squeaky spots. I leaned over the railing and could see a faint light shining against the far wall, and a shadow moved past it, so quickly that I couldn't determine who the shadow belonged to.

"Omi?" I called out. "You should be sleeping. What are you doing up?"

Suddenly a huge dark figure was rushing towards me, walking in swift strides. It wasn't planning on stopping any time soon, I figured, but I was stuck on the steps. I couldn't turn or sidestep the person, so what was I to do?

Simple. I let the figure slam into me. I thought I could stop it just with my brute force. I found out a few seconds later when my shoulder nearly detached from the socket that male ego and macho-ness were stupid things to have sometimes. I did however, glance up at the form as it passed me. It obviously wasn't an intruder of some sort, a lackey sent by Schreient to check the new place out. Otherwise it would have dragged me back up the stairs with it. No, it was someone who belonged here, staying at the Koneko.

"Aya?"

I barely managed to stumble the word out before he passed me, the red hair glowing in the faint shimmer of the light he'd left on. I heard some kind of noise arise from his throat, a tightened sound of…of…I couldn't place the word to describe, but as he shoved half my shoulder back and continued stalking up the steps, something wet fell onto my hand, which I'd subconsciously raised as if I were going to grab onto him.

The door above slammed gently and I listened as his footsteps receded into nothingness. I walked down the rest of the stairs, confused as anything at his behavior, and took a good look at my hand. 

It was wet, as I mentioned before, but it wasn't something totally unusual like blood or some kind of internal body fluid. It looked just like plain old water. A water droplet.

Right then the word I'd been searching for to describe Aya's noise came to me. It was pain. He was strangling himself with some kind of internal pain. It wasn't water that wobbled on the back of my hand, it was a tear. A round, small teardrop that had fallen from one of Aya's inquisitive yet omniscient violet eyes.

But that didn't provide me an answer as to what was wrong with the whole picture of Weiss regrouping and functioning as a team again. This incident was just a small stepping-stone, a warning pebble in the road that alerts you to the boulder around the bend. I guess you could say I kind of tripped over the pebble and woke some kind of sensory alert in my head. For the next few days I examined Aya, watching his graceful movements around the shop and even when relaxing, always with his movements having a purpose. Even if it was just poking one long finger through a batch of leaves and separating the red from the green, or stroking a tiny thorn that jutted innocently from a stem, his gestures always meant something. I'd be damned if I could ever figure it out.

*

I was sitting on my half-made bed a few days after I'd kept a constant eye on Aya, balancing a new soccer ball on my knee and trying to plan out my next practice for the kids when I heard a thundering crash come from downstairs. I didn't think it was possible for your heart to end up in your nose, but I was proven wrong in that instant. I kicked the ball away quickly and jumped to my feet, speeding out my door and thumping down the stairs to the basement.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Poor Omi, his bright eyes round and scared, his head turning to me painted with shock, one hand covering his mouth. His eyes seemed to plead with me, to silently ask me to remedy the situation before us. I was jumpstarted into action by his look and ran to the center of the room.

"Let her go, Aya," I said frantically, tugging at his elbow. I was desperately trying to detach his death grip from the front of Manx's expensive looking red jacket as she clenched her eyes shut, having never been attacked by her employees before. "Come on, Aya!" I shouted.

If looks could kill…those violet eyes would have me sliced into little pieces melting all over the floor. He gave me such a death look that I actually took a step back as he shook Manx by her lapels roughly and then shoved her away. She fell back onto the couch as Yohji stepped in front of Aya, standing a mere, well…same height as him, and put his hands on his hips. I could hear Manx as she gasped for breath, and noted briefly that Birman and Botan were standing towards the back of the room, their eyes wide in astonishment. My attention was reverted back to Aya and Yohji as the curses streamed from Yohji's mouth, trying to verbally knock some sense into him. Aya had a different plan as I watched his right hand tremble closed in a tight, painful looking fist.

"No, Aya!" I yelled, taking a diving leap in front of Yohji. "You don't want to do that!"

I didn't have time to think as his rock solid knuckles slammed into my jawbone, sending my head reeling towards the side, my neck cracking sharply. The blood poured from the inside of my mouth; I could feel it seeping between my teeth and gums. I put one shaky hand up to my bottom lip and turned back to face him. I knew my eyes were as big as saucers as they connected with his.

An emotion passed fleetingly through the plum color, something that looked possibly like regret, a shining moment that lasted literally a blink of an eye. He sighed in disgust, looking away, and strode off out of the room, his hands both now clenched into fists.

I felt Yohji's hands on my shoulders as he turned me to face him, eyes searching out my wound. I felt Omi's little hand as it gripped my arm, the one that was still pressing two tentative fingers against my lip. I felt the blood start to slide down the side of my mouth over the fingers, I felt my legs moving without my permission, I felt myself taking a few deep breaths. I felt my hand drop and my mouth open, asking Manx if she was all right. I felt Yohji's grateful and apologetic words as they pelted me in the face. I felt all eyes on me as I stumbled back towards the stairs and tripped on the first one, then pounded up them, my hand coming back up to my face.

I felt all those things then but a second later only one thing stuck to the inside of my mind, on replay so I could feel it again and again and sort it out. I felt Aya's fist as it smashed against me, hard and tight and oh so carefully placed to beat the conscious snot out of his opponent with one blow. I felt something through his hit, another emotion that surged from his eyes into his hand. Pain.

Pure and simple, it stared me in the face as I walked into the bathroom and hastily shut the door behind me. Aya was in pain. Why couldn't anybody else see it? Was it because I had spent so many days pondering over him and his actions that I picked up on it? Were my comrades really that thick?

I splashed some cold water on my face, stopped the bleeding in my mouth, and went to lie on my bed. I still had a practice to configure, but I couldn't concentrate on anything as jovial and pleasing as that. I could only see the pain.

Maybe this was some kind of catalyst to help me pick out the unsettling feeling I had in my stomach. I needed to figure out why I felt things were different before it ate me alive.

*

The next day I was working in the flower shop, arranging large pots of these sparkly chrysanthemums in the corner when I heard Yohji's annoyed voice speaking lowly to Omi. They stood huddled across the room together, pretending to work but actually just conversing _almost_ secretly with each other so the customers wouldn't think they were slacking. My ears perked up further, catching snatches of their discussion.

I heard some phrases like, "pain in my…" and "when's he gonna quit…" and "…next orders…" and "what's up with him?" and figured they were talking about Aya. It helped that the next thing out of Omi's mouth started with, "Well, Aya-kun…" and then drifted out of my hearing. I knew what they were talking about.

If you didn't act quickly with Yohji, you soon became a pain in his ass, and that's exactly what Aya had done, which tied in with the fact that we hadn't gotten any new orders yet, I suppose due to the fact that Aya tried to maul Manx yesterday, and using my own input here, I guessed that Yohji wanted Aya to quit skulking around like a pissed-off snake in elephant grass. _When's he gonna quit acting like this?_ is most likely what Yohji said. And neither of them understood it. They couldn't see that Aya's face, his features, that _something _was different about him. They just arrogantly figured that Aya flew off the handle just because Manx did something he didn't like. They didn't know, and couldn't tell, that he was influenced by something else. The pain I saw flickering in his eyes. Why was I suddenly the perceptive one here?

I went back to my mums and continued arranging, whistling crookedly through the nice little scab I had on my mouth, until I nearly fell over with thought. I figured it out. I knew why things felt different.

I let go of my mum pots and stepped back from the table, brow furrowed in thought. I pulled off my apron, hung it on the rack, and went upstairs in search of my destination, which I knew was right around the corner of the hall. I tapped lightly on the door, trying not to startle him if he was inside.

What was I thinking? Frighten an assassin? I don't think so. I pressed my ear to the door after a few moments of silence and knocked again, this time a pinch harder. Still no answer. I reached down to the knob and slowly twisted it, opening the door. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, staring straight ahead at the bed. It was empty and made, a solitary object placed in the middle of the room as if no one had lived here for the past few months. I stood still for a few minutes, just gazing at it, thinking now that I would never get my answer and this tap dancing would continue in my stomach for the rest of my life.

Then there was a small noise to my left. A soft sniffle, sounding like it should be accompanied by a cough or a cry that never came. I jerked my head over my shoulder and looked towards the source of the noise. I turned quickly and walked, my eyes only focused on his form, slumped against the wall, hands resting on the knees, a paper clutched between two fingers, the red hair hanging in his face. I kneeled down in front of him.

"Aya," I stated, trying to pry his eyes out of his lap.

There was no response, just another sniffle.

"Aya," I tried again, my voice coming out stronger and more confident.

No movement.

"Aya, look at me," I ordered.

His lap continued to receive the bathing of his eyes.

I reached and put a hand on his shoulder. "Aya, look at me," I commanded forcefully. "We need to talk."

He was as motionless as the dead, and my heart started to thump against my ribs. Suddenly I couldn't take his stillness and grabbed fistfuls of his black shirt, wrenching him into a standing position as I shot to my feet, bringing him to his full height, several inches over me. He didn't pull away or push back, and I slammed him against the wall, the flat of his back against it. Finally he looked at me as I stepped up close to him, my fingers shaking with the tenacity of squeezing his shirt, my eyes wide. "What is your problem, dammit?" I spat at him, before it fully registered that I was enacting a repeat performance of Yohji's conversation downstairs.

He didn't speak back to me, and I shouldn't have expected it. His eyes just beamed down into mine, and I noticed that they were dry, not wet with assumed tears that came with sniffling. He just merely looked at me, eyes never leaving mine, and I could feel his breathing, his chest rising and falling against my hands. At least I could tell he was still alive.

"Aya…" I loosened my grip on his shirt, willing myself to get into control of my functions and behave like a human. I took a slight step back, still looking into his eyes.

My heart pounded harder as his right hand slowly came to rest on my arm, moving like it was slogging through Jell-O. His long fingers wrapped gently around my wrist and clung with the lightest touch anyone had ever given me. I swallowed, hoping he couldn't hear my erratic heartbeat, pounding in my chest.

"Ken…" My name was just barely above a whisper, and that small sound from his mouth sent lightning shockwaves down to my toes.

"Aya, we need to talk," I began, conjuring up all my willpower to look away from him. I quickly found out that I didn't have enough and my eyes stayed locked with his. I blinked instead. "Why haven't we had any new orders?"

His eyes flickered from mine for an instant, staring across the room at the window, then came to rest in my gaze again. "No new missions," he replied, still speaking a hair above a whisper.

"Why not?" I cried, being the ever-emotional creature that I am. "What happened yesterday? Why is everything different? Why do I feel so weird?" I clamped my mouth shut after I realized I'd said a bit more than I'd planned to.

Aya didn't respond for a second. Then, his right hand uncurled from my arm and stretched tentatively towards me, his eyes widening as if he were shocked at his own actions. I watched out of the corner of my eye as his long, slender fingers came to touch my lip, rubbing softly over the scab, getting the feel of it under his fingertips. I gulped again, trying to keep my face exactly where it was and not throw his touch from my mouth.

His hand retracted moments later, and it dropped to his side. His eyes left mine and sought out the floor. I released his shirt completely from my hands but daringly did not move them, instead I spread my palms against the fabric, feeling his smooth muscles underneath.

With his vision still connected to the floor, he raised his left hand and held out the piece of paper he had been clutching all this time. He wanted me to look at it, shifting it upright and holding it far enough away for me to focus on its contents.

It was a picture, and I gasped slightly at the sight of it. What was Aya doing with this? The paper showed a young girl, strung up to a bed, her hands tied to the posts with rusty looking rope, burns around her wrists and ankles. There were several deep cuts along her body, which was clothed in a mutilated blue dress, the strands hanging limply off her legs. Bruises covered her from bottom to top, and as my eyes scanned the sheet, I looked to her face and saw her black eyes and missing teeth and a huge gash in her cheek, which looked like it had been bleeding for days. My eyes went up further, looking at the limp locks of her hair, tied tightly in two thickly twisted ponytails on the sides of her head, the dark blue tinge barely noticeable through the crappy condition of the paper fibers…

"No," I struggled, forcing the words out of my throat. "No, that can't be…"

Aya's hand dropped to his side and the sheet of paper fluttered to the floor; slipped through his weakened fingers. "Schreient," he whispered.

"But-but…" I thought fast. "If it was Schreient, why don't we just go after them and obliterate them?" I was vaguely aware of my hands pushing urgently against him, flattening him against the wall even more.

"Aya wouldn't want that," he told me, bringing his eyes to mine again. "I wanted revenge, but she would never understand."

"But she's your sister!" I burst out. "She _has_ to be avenged!"

Aya shook his head. "I don't want to."

I felt myself becoming angry. "Why not?" I shouted. "That's why we haven't had any new orders? What, Manx told you to go after Schreient yesterday and _that's_ why you attacked her? What's the matter with you?" I seized his shirt again. "Who are you?" I demanded. "You're not the Aya that _I_ know! The old Aya would have gone out the night he got this and sliced every single member of Schreient open and laughed at their guts spilling all over the floor! What's happened to you?"

Aya didn't flinch at my outburst. "Is that all I am?" he asked softly. "A killing machine? Only good for revenge?" He paused, letting his words sink into my head. Then he said, "The old Aya used to have a part of his family left." He sagged against the wall, despite my hands holding his shirt.

I immediately felt my heart melt, feeling dumb as my own harsh words wracked through my brain. The poor guy was in terrible pain, and here I was practically rattling his brains and slamming him against the wall. Who was _I_ to do this to him? Who were _they_?

I let go of his shirt and put my hands down, afraid that I'd leave them resting against his chest all night. "Sick bastards," I muttered, rubbing my thigh with my hand.

Aya seemed to lose control of his legs, and he slumped down to the floor again like earlier, his eyes back in his lap. I stood awkwardly for a moment, then thought about him brushing his hand over my lip, the soft skin of his fingertips resting with a feathery touch on my chin, and quickly sat next to him before I lost my nerve. I curled up next to him, bringing my arms around his shoulders, wrapping him up. I pulled his head to my shoulder and he let it stay there, comfortably positioned for the both of us. I reached up across him and ran my hand over his cheek, then took one long crimson eartail and wrapped it around my finger, reveling in the silky smoothness of it. I thought my breathing would stop as one of his hands came up and held onto my T-shirt, his body shifting closer to mine.

As we sat together on the floor, I tried to comfort him, and I don't know if I did a very good job of it, for he just sat still, clenching his hand on my shirt. I hoped I was helping him deal with the pain that I knew was burning away inside.

And that's when I found what was in my stomach, that's how I recognized and pointed it out. The fact that Aya had changed so dramatically was the unsettling feeling that had become implanted inside. Where was the leader who'd snatch papers from Manx's hand and leave without letting any of us decide what we wanted to do? Where was the man who would unsheathe his katana in a flash and hold it against your throat without a second thought? He was gone. The person I called "Old Aya" had been temporarily shoved away and this defeated and broken Aya had taken his place. I'd memorized his every movement, every gesture, every _look_ that came across his face; that's why I was able to pick out the pain in his eyes. His only family member left had been stolen from him and brutally murdered. I didn't understand how he could have _not_ taken his katana to his throat.

Aya moved then and drew me out of my thoughts. His hand let go of my shirt and he shifted, pulling his head up from my shoulder. My heart thrashing inside again, I turned my head and looked at him with owl eyes. The violet merely stared back; if they were made of fire my eyes would have been smoldering in their sockets. I took a deep breath as he moved even closer to me, his arms moving around my waist, his face in the crook of my neck. My hand, with a mind of its own, moved and gently held his head there; I could feel as one more solitary tear slipped down my neck. He needed time. He needed space. He needed a functioning brain to sort things out for himself. He needed friends. He needed love. He needed family.

I knew his scowl was still hidden underneath this tormented version of himself, pinned to his second skin on the warm flesh of his face, his only facial feature that had become accepted as ordinary by the other members of Weiss. Someday it would show again, and things would go back to normal, except now, if he wanted, he could have back his family of four. 

As we sat together on the floor, holding each other in silent understanding, I told myself that he just needed to pull himself up and walk back down to the flower shop, where we'd all be waiting.


End file.
